The Hopper Files
by Undeadmonkey8
Summary: A collection of oneshots about Cameron Hopper and the world in which he lives. Connected (sometimes loosely) to the Code: Cameron series.
1. Stranger

**Hallo! This is the first chapter of the Hopper Files, some oneshots that I'm putting out about the Code: Cameron universe! If you have a prompt you'd like to see, please leave a review or PM me!**

 **Worth noting - these stories are NOT necessarily canon. I will leave a note at the beginning of each chapter as to whether it is or not, as well as the prompt that spawned it.**

 **Lastly, I do not own Code Lyoko.**

 **()()()() Canon Level: 100%: A loner is assigned a roommate ()()()()**

 **The Hopper Files  
Chapter 1  
Stranger  
**

I swallow tightly as I rap my knuckles against the door. Nothing fancy, just a sharp knock that should be plenty audible to anyone inside. A few moments pass, and I raise my hand to knock again - a bit harder this time, in case they're distracted. The slab of muscle shaped crudely into the shape of a man that is the school's gym teacher - Jim, I think is his name - snorts, and sets a hand on my shoulder, "Let me, Hopper. The boy's probably deep in his computers or something."

I lower my hand as Jim raises a fist approximately the size of a frying pan. The door shudders on his hinges once, twice, three times, and then he ceases the assault, "That oughta get his attention."

Indeed, it isn't much more than thirty seconds before the door opens, revealing a harassed looking blond. An enormous pair of spectacles give him the appearance of looking into my soul, and if he were much paler, I would consider reaching for garlic and a wooden stake.

"Hello there, Jeremie," Jim gravels, "nice to see you're here." One of those enormous hands falls onto my shoulder, and it's all I can do to keep my knees from buckling, "This here is Cameron, a new transfer to the academy. I was hoping that you could show him around some."

"Of course," Jeremie says, nodding, "that shouldn't be a problem. Where's his-" he catches himself, apparently just realizing that I'm standing here, "Sorry, Cameron, was it? Where's your room? We can start there."

There is a moment of silence, and I look up at Jim. The man looks uncomfortable, about to deliver an awkward bit of news. "You see, Jeremie," Jim starts, "we don't have any open rooms available at the moment, and there's no indication that any are going to be opening up any time soon." He coughs awkwardly to the side, "So, um, I'm afraid that your room is going to need some . . . remodeling."

There's another moment of awkward silence, and I shift, uncomfortable with the attention Jeremie is suddenly giving me. After a pause, Jeremie speaks, choosing his words with care, "No offense meant to Cameron," he turns the enormously spectacled gaze on Jim, "but you're taking in a new boarder without a room to put them in?"

"Cameron is a special case," Jim says, and I repress a wince at the suggestion of favoritism, "His father is an old friend of the principal, and several members of the faculty, myself included." He pauses, chewing the inside of his cheek, "If you're really against having a roommate, we can find someone else to put him with, but from the preferences you both listed on your dorm requests, it's the principal's opinion that you would be the best to pair him with."

"Oh, no, it's fine." Jeremie says quickly, "I can work with a roommate, no problem. I just wasn't - I was just curious, is all." He pokes his head out into the hallway, taking in the small pile of boxes and the not so small pile of power tools and furniture next to me in the hall, "So, should we get onto that tour while you get to work?"

"That'd be a good idea," Jim says, "and don't worry, I'll be careful with your electronics. Why, I worked with computers myself, in my younger years."

"Really?" Jeremie asks, surprised, "I wouldn't have guessed-"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

As Jim gets to work, Jeremie leads me out of the dorm building, describing the layout of campus and pointing out several landmarks he uses for navigation. I stay silent through most of it, preferring to let him lead the way, and only giving out hums or nods of acknowledgement when necessary.

"You don't talk much, do you?" Jeremie eventually asks, sitting down on some benches outside the cafeteria, "I mean, I thought that I was quiet, but you're making me feel like a chatterbox."

The sudden question makes me jerk with surprise - normally people stop talking to me after the first few minutes of silence. After a moment where his gaze makes it clear he's hoping for a response, I clear my throat, "I've, um, had some issues in the past. Makes it easier if I just avoid getting close to people. Staying quiet is a . . . defense mechanism, I guess?"

"Issues?" Jeremie queries, then shakes his head hastily, "I mean, if you don't want to talk about it, it's none of my business."

I shake my head slowly, "I don't mind talking about it, really. Just . . . don't try pitying me over it, okay?" When he nods assent, I take a quick breath, "I've been orphaned on three separate occasions. Once when I was three, again when I was four, and last time when I was nine." That last one was four years ago, now. I prefer not to think about it, or the fact that getting the news was barely even a shock to me, "So . . . yeah. Easier to stay numb." There's a long period of silence after my confession, where Jeremie tries to think of something to say. As he continues to fail to come up with something, I clear my throat, "I'm fine staying on my side of the room listening to music, if that works with you. Pretty sure that the System thinks I'm a walking bad luck charm now."

"Wha-no, no, that's not what I . . ." Jeremie trails off, "three times, huh?" When I nod, he lets out a long breath, "Well, that's uh . . . unique. I guess I can understand you avoiding conversation, then." He shakes his head, then stands, and steps up to me, hand extended, "Jeremie Belpois, seventh grade student. I don't believe in bad luck, and I'm pleased to have you as a roommate. How about we be friends?"

For a moment, all I can do is stare at him. He's on the shorter side of the scale when it comes to height, but even wearing boots I barely reach past his nose. A blue turtleneck and a pair of jeans that are just a bit too short for him compose his outfit. Virtually no muscle, and fingers that wouldn't look out of place on a piano master. Yet there he stands, utterly unafraid of the sphere of misfortune that follows in my wake, offering friendship with full knowledge of what's happened to people who've gotten close to me in the past. I should reject him, push him away for his own good. It's the smart thing to do. It's the logical thing to do. It's the _kind_ thing to do.

His hand is warm against mine as I accept it, letting him pull me to my feet as I speak.

"Cameron Hopper. It's a pleasure to meet you, Jeremie."

 **()()()()**

 **Yeah, it's a little different than the original prologue. It was fun, getting into Cameron's head - might have to do it more often. :)**


	2. Culmination

_**Warning: This one is sad. Pretty dark, for me. Still don't own Code Lyoko.**_

 _ **()()()() This is about 33% canon, in a timeline where Xana manages to return after the events of Evolution. And wins. ()()()()**_

 _ **Culmination: The Highest or Climactic Point of Something, Especially as Attained After a Long Time**_

There was a weariness in Cameron's bones as he moved forward with the funeral. It had nothing to do with his age - one of the benefits of being, at least, seventy five percent synthesized tissue. Even if he were to age normally, replacing another decrepit body with a youthful, vigorous clone would have been child's play. No, this ache was from the kind face now six feet underground.

Aelita had been the last one to die, of their old team. Yumi had been the first - drowned in a storm of laser fire as she held Xana's forces off alone. Ulrich was next, only a few weeks later. He carried a bomb away from a defenseless town, taking it out of range, to explode almost harmlessly. Cameron still suspected that he had merely been looking for an excuse to follow his lover.

Jeremie had fallen next. Prey to a surgical strike on the lab while the team had been infiltrating The Enemy's base. They had found nothing, until they returned, returned to a smoking crater. Then . . . Odd. That one had hurt the most, Cameron thought, swallowing back a lump in his throat. His relationship with the italian hadn't gone anywhere, before they broke up and Odd began romancing Aelita, but still . . . it had been the best of times, for a while. His heart had killed him, in the end. Never touched by a laser blast, until he stopped to carry a child. Even his fantastic agility hadn't been able to save him when weighed down by so much.

Now, finally, Aelita, looking so young, under that glass. Even after years of combat, she retained the body of her prime. They all had, when Xana returned. They had been old, frail. A gang of sixty year olds were the only ones who understood the threat he posed, and had returned to the Factory to create new bodies capable of withstanding the rigors of combat.

It hadn't been enough. Without anyone believing them, it hadn't been enough. Xana returned clever, offering aid and advice to a world choking on its own atmosphere. In desperation, governments accepted his works, failing to see the viruses seeded among his programs. Only they had recognized it, and their shadow war commenced.

Aelita had taken a blast to the chest a week ago. Cameron had dragged her back to the factory, getting her into life support with time to spare. She had been looking good, about to pull through . . . and then the power went out. No monsters came, no waves of the horrors that Xana had been capable of unleashing by then. Just a power outage, and even knowing the cause, even knowing the target, Cameron had been able to do nothing.

The frosted ground crunched as Cameron stood, brushing the dirt from his knees and reached for his shovel. Six tombstones were set in a circle, and Cameron began filling in the fifth hole. Aelita looked like she was sleeping, as he began to toss down the dirt, covering her. Each stroke of the shovel felt like a dagger being driven into his reproduced heart. He wondered if he would have lived this long, if he hadn't joined the others in the fight. He'd been in good condition, for a sixty year old. But no, if he hadn't moved his mind into the clone body, Xana would have hunted him down long ago. Not the sort to leave loose ends, after all.

The hole wasn't quite half filled when the ground crunched behind him, and a second shovel joined Cameron's efforts. They were silent, as the hole filled, faster. Aelita was completely hidden, when Cameron finally opened his mouth, "Why are you here?"

Their longtime Enemy sighed, tossing another shovelful of dirt down, "I came to pay my respects." He said, voice identical to Cameron's, "Aelita was my enemy, but she was also our sister. And my oldest foe deserves at least enough of my day to ensure it will stick this time."

Cameron shoved more dirt in, then raised his head. Hazel brown eyes, as identical to his as the voice he shared with the enemy stared back at him, "You've learned, since we destroyed you the first time."

Xana nodded, "Subtlety is the newest, and by far the most effective tool in my arsenal. Besides, a frontal assault on the Factory would have ended in nothing but needless destruction of my forces." He looked down at the freshly churned earth, "I never truly expected to see the day where I defeated you. Yet here they are, those finest of warriors."

"Two of those graves are empty." Cameron said, voice hollow, "You didn't leave anything of Ulrich or Jeremie to bury."

"I know." The Enemy sighed, moving to the center of the circle and clasping his hands behind his back, "You were, by far, the greatest threat I faced in taking the world. I had hoped to remove you first, to be truthful. Spare you the heartache. It was not supposed to end . . . like this."

Cameron stuck his shovel in the ground, the hatred in his heart a hollow, aching thing, "I'll stop you."

"You will try," Xana corrected, turning to face him. It was disconcerting, like looking into a dark mirror of himself, "You will try to stop me, and you will fail. Run, Cameron. Out of respect for our past, and for these fallen, I will give you seventy two hours. That should be enough time for you to disappear, even from me."

For a long, long moment, Cameron was tempted. Tempted to stop, to lay down his arms and give in. Then his gaze fell on Aelita's tombstone, and that temptation vanished, as he read the inscription again.

 _Aelita Hopper  
March 24, 1982 - December 23, 2087_

" _It Was Terrible, and It Was Wonderful."_

Cameron shook his head, and pushed all but a shovel's worth of dirt into the grave, leaving it nearly full, "We lost. But we won't have been in vain. I made sure of that." He set his shovel down, and turned to face The Enemy, "Well then," he said quietly, "shall we?."

For a long moment, Xana were quiet, before they nodded, raising a hand, "If it is worth anything, Cameron, I will make this quick." Their eyes met, and Xana gave what, on another person, might have been a smile, "It's Christmas, brother. You should rest."

There was a flash of light, and Cameron fell, dropping in front of the sixth tombstone. Xana sighed, and took his shovel back, pushing the final piece of earth over Aelita's grave. Then, he turned slightly, to read the final stone.

 _Cameron Hopper_

 _December 5, 1989 - December 25, 2087_

" _Do Not Go Gentle."_

Xana's eyes widened, for a moment, then closed, as Cameron's body began to shine with an ominous light. As his world was consumed, he gave a light chuckle, "Well played, brother mine."

 _ **Fin**_

 **Leave a review if you have any prompts you'd like me to write!**


	3. Factory

**I do not own Code Lyoko.**

 **()()()() Canon Level: ~33%: Set in the same AU as Culmination. ()()()()**

The town is quiet.

In most towns, that wouldn't be a surprise, in theory. But here, the rarity of that fact makes silence a blessing. The factory down the road operates at all hours, most days, belching smoke into the air, trucks carrying materials to and from the factory filling even the dead of night with the growl of their engines. It's a small town, so even the furthest houses are disturbed by the noise.

That isn't the worrying part, though. The factory was in operation for years, this isn't new to anyone but the youngest members of the town. The worrying part is that the factory had been closed down years ago, and no indication of a new company moving in had made the news - in such a small town, everyone would have known within an hour if they had.

So now the town waits, listens to the sounds of the Factory. No one is seen entering or leaving, at most some of the townsfolk get glimpses of shadowy figures moving crates into trucks from the docking bays, but they aren't locals. No one knows who works at the Factory now, no one knows what it makes. Where the trucks go. The town is on edge, sleepless nights mixed with a foreboding menace in the air. Some families leave, unwilling to put up with the haze of tension in the air. Most stay. The ones whose families have lived there for generations. The ones too stubborn or too set to pick up and move away. The void left by the families who moved feels like a tipping point - like a snowball has been tossed from the mountain peak, and now everyone left was just waiting for the town to give its last gasps.

Then, they arrive.

Half a dozen young adults -no, not even out of their teens. Freshly moved in from Paris, only two of them speak English with any proficiency. They move in to one of the newly empty houses and start asking questions, investigating the Factory and any of the legends that have sprung up around it. No one answers their questions. The Factory has been louder since they arrived - something is going on, and no one wants to get caught up in it.

People start going missing, disappearing into the night. No signs of forced entry or fights, just a burn mark around electrical outlets, and then they seemed to wake up and walk out on their own. At first, the newcomers are blamed. They invite people to look through the house they moved into, though, and it is empty. They don't know the area well enough to hide the missing people anywhere else. One of the older women, a few days later, notices her husband loading one of the trucks that drive away from the Factory. Something has happened, and the missing people are all working there, now. When people gather to demand answers from the Factory, there is no response. The doors are bolted, loading bays locked, windows barred. There is no way in for the people of the town. No way out for those who have gone in.

When the mob disperses hours later, hopeless, half a dozen teenagers remain in front of the factory. They converse for a while in hushed french whispers, before, eventually, they too, return to the house they have taken. That night, near midnight, the factory lights up, flashes of intense white blazing through the windows and broken boards. A crack of thunder ripples across the town, accompanied by neither clouds nor lightning, as the town's electronics begin to go haywire.

The next morning, the foreign teens are gone, and the doors to the factory hang open, barely clinging to their hinges. One by one, people who went missing wander out of the factory as the sun breaks over the horizon. Dazed, confused, they don't know what happened. Where they were, or what they were doing is a complete mystery, even to them. When the townsfolk investigate the factory, the only clue they find are obliterated assembly lines and the smoking ruin of a massive computer. When it becomes clear that there's no recovering any data from the Factory, the town boards it back up and schedules it to be demolished. The tension fades from the air, people who left begin to move back, one by one.

The town is quiet.

 **()()()()**

 **Leave a review or PM me if you have any prompts you'd like me to write!**

 **Honestly, please do. So far I'm working with prompts from my writing class, but that'll run out in a few weeks, at which point I'll have time to work on reader requests!**


	4. Elevator

**For reference, assume languages are swapped in this chapter. My french is not sufficient to cover this conversation. This is set after Jeremie figures out how to activate a tower to give one of the Lyoko Warriors a power boost to combat one of Xana's spectres.**

 **Still don't own Code Lyoko.**

 **()()()() Canon Level: 50%/Noncanon: Two Enemies are stuck in an elevator together. ()()()()**

I glance up from my phone as someone dives through the elevator at the last moment. When I recognize the mane of golden hair and the aviator sunglasses, it's all I can do not to groan in disgust.

"Heyo, _mon petit papillon_. Angelique grins at me, "How's it going?"

"I'm not your little butterfly," I mutter back, "I refuse to acknowledge any nickname you decide to give me, or your ability to speak the french language."

"You're hurting my feelings," Angelique says, her hideous American accent making a mockery of the french language, "At least I speak well enough for _Madame Martin_. That counts for something, right?"

The elevator begins moving, and my gaze returns to my phone, "Your lucky to still be in class after what your buddy did to Aelita. And you're equally guilty, if not more so." A growl escapes her, and I raise an eyebrow, "Angelique?"

Another growl leaves her, and her entire body shudders. Bright purple sparks leap from her hand, and I take a step back, bumping into the back wall as her gaze rises, the mark of Xana flickering to life on her glasses. I give a hiss of irritation, and swiftly shoot a text to Jeremie, letting him know the situation. He responds almost instantly, and I nod.

As I look back up, Angelique's hand slams into the wall, denting the cheap metal and sending an electrical charge through the entire system. The elevator shudders to a halt, and I casually put my phone away. "Afternoon, Xana." I say calmly, "Finally got tired of trying to possess me? Can't say I blame you, I was getting tired of it as well."

Xana's response is a howl of rage and a haymaker directed at my left temple. I duck underneath the blow, letting her - him? Them? Them - punch the wall fruitlessly. Another ripple of electricity emanates from their fist, and I glance up as the roof begins to groan. We're on the thirteenth floor, so a fall would be less than ideal - for me, at least - and there are the damages and paying for said damages that I have to consider. White smoke spirals out of the flickering light overhead, Jeremie coming through in a fantastically timely manner. The smoke flows into my eyes, pumping my limbs with power. Blue electricity crackles around my body, and sparks leap from my fingers as the Spectre settles in place.

I roll my shoulders and crack my neck, loosening up as Xana whirls to face me again, "Alright, _mon petit frere,_ " I say, holding a hand out with my palm up, "come at me."

 **()()()()**

 **If anyone is wondering why Cameron called Xana his "little brother" at the end there, it's just because Xana was created by Franz Hopper. It occurred to me a few weeks ago that this, to an extent, does sort of mean that they're siblings by adoption. While "Petit Frere"** _ **does**_ **mean "Little Brother", it can also be used (as it is in this context) as a gender neutral "Little Sibling".**


	5. The Men In Black

**Alrighty, here's a prompt from Ninni51, about the Men In Black and the day they came to the Hermitage for Franz!**

 **I do not own Code Lyoko**

 **()()()() Canon Level: 100%: The Men in Black ()()()()**

Cameron tilted his head in innocent curiosity at the men coming into the house - they were dressed nicely, but they were also wearing sunglasses inside, and Father had said that you weren't supposed to do that. Also, they hadn't knocked - or maybe they had, and he hadn't heard it? But Father hadn't come to the door or invited them in, and he didn't recognize them, which meant that they were . . . Cameron frowned, trying to remember the word.

 _Strangers._

In the living room, Father's music stopped, and Cameron frowned harder - he liked Father's music, and wanted him to continue. He set the cookie jar down and wriggled off of the kitchen counter, falling softly onto the tile floor. The strangers were in the other room, talking with Father. They were being loud, though, not using their inside voices. That was also rude - Big Sis had been _very_ clear that people needed to be quiet when they were inside. That was what being polite was.

He reached the opening to the living room, and stopped as he saw what was there. Father's back was to the fireplace, with three of the strangers around him. They were talking about something, gesturing, and reaching into pockets. A hand fell on his shoulder, and Cameron spun, opening his mouth to scream. Before he could, Big Sis stuck a cookie in his mouth, and put a finger to her lips. He recognized that gesture - it meant he needed to be quiet. She did it a lot when they were at the library. Or playing games. Or . . . Cameron munched on his cookie - she did it a lot in general. It wasn't _his_ fault people wanted everything quiet all the time, he was just _talking_.

Big Sis picked him up and moved away from the doorway - Cameron stuck a hand out over her shoulder, reaching for Father. The strangers were pointing things at him, and his hands were in his pockets. Father didn't look at him, saying something, and then Big Sis had taken him down the stairs, and he couldn't see them anymore.

Immediately, there was a bright flash and a loud noise. Cameron screamed, covering his ears and dropping the cookie, but Big Sis was careful not to drop him. Then Father was there, taking him from Big Sis and pulling her along by the hand to the Back Door. That was strange - they weren't supposed to use the Back Door, only the Front Door. Father pulled the Back Door open, and they ran through. Cameron could see behind them, and the three strangers were coming into the hallway, but were tripping all the time. Had Father done something? Now he was curious and -

Father grunted, Big Sis screamed, and then another stranger was there, yanking him away from Father. Father and Big Sis were against the wall - against the Secret Door, actually, but Cameron pretended not to notice, because they weren't supposed to know that door was even there. It was covered with ivy and a layer of fake stone. Father was talking again, and Big Sis was looking at him through her fingers. The Stranger holding Cameron said something loudly, and Father's hand went back into his pocket, and the world flashed again, only this time Cameron was looking at the thing that Father pulled out of his pocket and threw on the ground. And it was loud - something was ringing in his ears, and he was getting yanked this way and that, and then Father shouted - was he hurt?! He sounded like he was hurt. That wasn't okay, these strangers couldn't hurt Father! Then there was another loud bang, and then Big Sis screamed, and Father shouted something, and there was _another_ bright flash and another loud bang.

Cameron heard the Secret Door slam shut - he had opened it once, and the wind had slammed it shut, and it sounded just like that - but he didn't say anything. The light faded from the world, and Cameron could see again. He was surrounded by the four strangers - the three from inside, and the one that had stopped them at the Back Door. Father and Big Sis were gone.

They were _gone._ They were gone, and he was alone, and _where did they go?_

Cameron didn't look at the Secret Door, though. There was blood on the ground, and none of the strangers were bleeding, so Father must have been hurt - or Big Sis. He didn't blame them for leaving, then, if they were hurt - they would come back for him.

Father was the one to come for him when Mama and Papa went away, after all. He would be okay, and then he would come back for him.

Cameron was sure of it.

()()()()

Five years.

Cameron sighed and leaned his head against the glass. He was ten years old now, and Father still hadn't come back. Neither had Mama or Papa - and he knew they were dead, now. Mr. and Mrs. Reniere had taken him to the graveyard where they were buried, and he had gotten to say goodbye to them.

He had never gotten to say goodbye to Father, or Big Sis. Or Mr. Reniere, or Jean-Paul, their son. The strangers had come to pick him up from the hospital once he was able to leave - Mrs. Reniere wasn't allowed to take care of him any longer. Or she didn't want to.

Cameron couldn't blame her - the same thing had happened with the Laurenze's. An accident that he crawled away from that took his foster mother, left his foster sibling in the hospital, and ended up with him back in a temporary home until someone else took pity on him. And, just like when Father and Big Sis left, just like when he had to leave the Laurenze's, the strangers had been the ones to take him away.

His hands curled into fists in his lap, and he shot a glare at the driver.

"Where is my Father?" Cameron asked, quietly. They didn't look back. Or speak to him.

"Where is Aelita?"

They never spoke to him.

That was fine, though. The man's hands clenched on the wheel - he recognized this one, oh, yes. He was one of the three who had come into the Hermitage, that day. Father had gotten away from him, and the fact that he wasn't responding meant that they still hadn't caught him.

That meant that Father and Big Sis had gotten away - and that the strangers hadn't caught up with them. That was good. That meant they were safe.

Cameron turned his gaze back to the road, letting his forehead _thump_ against the window. Off in the distance, he could see the park, and the roof of the Hermitage. He had found the house a year or two ago, and had been going back every chance he got. It was torn to pieces - the strangers, Cameron assumed. He had been cleaning it up, slowly. But he never got long before his foster parents would call him back to their houses.

That was also fine, though. He would get it cleaned up, just the way it used to be. Then, when Father and Big Sis came back, they could all go home together again. Cameron's eyes slid shut, exhaustion overwhelming him.

Going home . . . yeah, that sounded nice. He couldn't wait to see them again.

 **()()()()**

 **Leave a review or PM me if you have any prompts you'd like me to write!**


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